


Early Morning Heart Attacks

by skatzaa



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Chirrut is about to get his hands on a lightsaber, Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon, and Baze is Stressed(tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23518027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: Chirrut had always been interested in the Jedi convoys that occasionally graced the Temple’s doorstep, but, until now, the convoys were decidedly less interested in Chirrut. Padawan Naolla, who’d arrived with her master the week before to study with the grandmasters, seemed to be as fascinated with Chirrut as he was with her, to Baze’s continuous exasperation. Only one more day, and then Baze would not have to worry about what the two would be getting up to any longer.
Relationships: Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37
Collections: Party in the GFFA: Star Wars Flash Exchange 2020





	Early Morning Heart Attacks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whalebone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalebone/gifts).



Something nudged Baze most of the way out of sleep, but he rolled over, clinging to the last shreds of warm drowsiness.

Chirrut. Chirrut was warm, and soft, and he would satisfactorily block out the morning light that insisted on disturbing Baze, even on his rest days. 

Baze rolled over, pushing his face into the pillow, and reached out for Chirrut.

Empty sheets. He felt around with his hand, but still, nothing, though the sheets were warm. He burrowed closer to the warmth, determined to take full advantage of at least that, even if his husband was a fool who would choose to wake early though it was unnecessary.

A rustle from somewhere in the room, and Baze realized belatedly that was what had woken him to begin with. He grunted, keeping his eyes firmly shut, pushing further into the pillow.

“Ah, so the slumbering bear awakens,” Chirrut said, a laugh caged in his voice. “Are you ready to rise, husband of mine?”

Baze grunted again, and did not move. He would not give in to his husband’s poking and prodding. 

“Today is the last day of Master Tivaya and Padawan Naolla’s stay here at the Temple,” Chirrut continued conversationally, as though Baze had responded to him. 

Baze did not dignify that with a response either, because he did not want to encourage that particular obsession any further. 

Chirrut had always been interested in the Jedi convoys that occasionally graced the Temple’s doorstep, but, until now, the convoys were decidedly less interested in Chirrut. Padawan Naolla, who’d arrived with her master the week before to study with the grandmasters, seemed to be as fascinated with Chirrut as he was with her, to Baze’s continuous exasperation. Only one more day, and then Baze would not have to worry about what the two would be getting up to any longer.

Appeased by the thought, Baze rolled onto his side and cracked open an eye to peer at Chirrut, standing in the light that streamed in from the room’s sole window. His husband liked to claim that the Force did not touch him, simply surrounded him, but it was moments like these that Baze most doubted him; how else, if not the Force, would Chirrut know how attractive he looked with the morning light kissing his bare cheek, his neck, the dip of his collarbone?

Chirrut gave him a wicked grin, as though he could read Baze’s mind. He said, “I thought that would get your attention.”

“Of course it would,” Baze told him. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

Chirrut’s grin grew sharper, and Baze sat up, his well-ingrained sense for any and all Chirrut-related chaos raising a blazing red flag.

“What,” he said flatly. 

Chirrut reached out for his walking stick, though he hadn’t yet finished the carvings on the top. He hefted it with both hands, chin tilted down as though he was considering the kyber crystal embedded in the pommel. 

“Oh, nothing,” Chirrut responded, starting for the door. “You worry too much, my delicate little malbus flower.”

Baze groaned and collapsed back onto the pillows. That tone always meant trouble.

“Oh,” Chirrut added, pausing in the doorway, “did I forgot to mention that Padawan Naolla promised to let me try her lightsaber? I find I am quite looking forward to seeing—hah—how it differs from a lightbow!”

And then he was gone, and Baze was launching himself out of bed, yelling, _“Chirrut!”_

Oh how his husband would be the death of him someday!

—That is, if Baze did not kill him first for pulling a stunt like this.


End file.
